Another Time, Another Place
by Death's Obsession
Summary: Frankie taught him to survive - she also taught him the importance of revenge. So now she's back, and finds that he's made a name for himself - he's become his own brand of monster. Add Jack to the mix, and you've got yourself a party. Riddick/OFC
1. And so it Begins

***Alright, I've decided to try something different this time around. This is an idea that I've had swimming around in my head for a while. Might be a bit of a slow start, but I think that it'll all pan out pretty soon. But just a heads up, this will be full of sexual situations, language, and graphic scenes. If any of that unsettles you, I encourage you to find another story. And just so there aren't any broken hearts later on - and I'd hate to waste your time - this won't be a Jack/Riddick pairing. ***

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**Another Time, Another Place**

**Chapter One**

**And so it Begins**

She laid her head against the cool porcelain bowl. The contents of her high-protein dinner from the night before all but completely out of her system. The suddenness of everything must have been too much.

"Fuck," she whispered. _What the fuck?_

So now she knew. All it took was an instant. All it took was a word. A name.

Now she understood everything.

She'd been struggling with her identity for months now. Since she'd crashed on Kalsten, she'd been in a frantic search to straighten things out. Get some answers.

But now it made sense. The reason that nobody was able to help her. The reason that nobody was able to identify her. The planet was beyond the Empire's control. There wasn't any reason for them to have information on her.

There was nothing that could prepare her for this. Nothing that could soften the blow of reality. Nothing that could lessen her feelings of disgust and repulsion. _What had she done? _

A mistake. The type that you can't run from. The type that'll haunt you because your mind won't just let you shut it out. Won't let you forget.

She should count herself lucky that she had the last few months to live in ignorance. If given the choice, she would gladly go back to having no memory of _anything_, rather than suddenly remembering _everything_.

But it was too late, and here she was.

She laid there on the cold floor of her bathroom and revisited the most recent dream that she had experienced. She had known it was important. She knew that it was the missing piece to the puzzle. Why else was it the only thing that played in her mind when she slept? The repeat button was on. And fuck if her subconscious weren't trying to get through to her. It had thrown symbolism out the window. Something had been trying to claw its way out of her. An abomination. Something that was making her cringe away. Maybe that's why it had taken so long for her to figure it out. Maybe she was consciously trying to keep the past at bay.

That dark little box in the back of her mind, the one that should be avoided at all costs.

Whatever the cost.

Her mind wandered to that dream, and the subsequent events that led her to this point. She felt like she was looking in on someone else's life. And in a way, she was.

"_So what'd you do in a situation like that? What would you do, Frankie?" His body was relaxed. He asked the question as though he were making small talk._

_So… what do you do in a situation like that? She posed the question to herself. Rolling it over and over in her mind and nearly laughing at the absurdity of the situation. What the fuck type of question was that? She didn't like where the conversation was heading. What was he getting at? Where was the starting point to all this? How does he always fucking redirect the attention to her?_

_"Just don't panic, kid." She looked over at him, studying his cool expression. "I can't say what anybody will do in a situation like that. I can't tell you what'll come to you instinctually."_

_She didn't like the look that he had in his eyes. He was more distant and contained ever since the other night. It unsettled her. Did she feel responsible? If so, why was it guilt, and not remorse that she felt?_

_"You know, they say that the eyes are the window to the soul." She looked over at him again, this time holding his gaze. "And I don't like what I'm seeing there."_

_She waited for his response, but grew aggravated when he refused to do more than meet her gaze. She looked away from him for a moment and went back to packing her duffle bag. _

_None of it mattered now. It'd all be over soon enough. She'd made her decision._

_She looked up again and a familiar scene greeted her. Richard was now standing an arms length away. A small smile was playing on his lips, and his right hand was tapping almost absentmindedly against his leg. The shiv was held tight in his fist and the steady trickle of blood was pooling on the floor around him. The sound of it seemed in time with his movements. She didn't need to examine him closer; this image of him was burned into her mind. His arms were covered in blood and gore and the only indication that his black shirt and pants were covered was the fact that it glistened in the light from the moisture._

_"You proud, Frankie? I went for the sweet spot just like you showed me. What a gusher, right?" A sick, telling smile, cock of the head._

_There wasn't enough air in the room. She sat gasping and shaking for moments longer then she liked, her lungs straining to suck in enough oxygen. Her mind was reeling in the wake of her dream._

_There was no escaping it. Dreams like that had been haunting her for months now. Ever since she had arrived here. But she'd be lying to herself if she tried to maintain that they were just dreams. They were too real – too defined and distinct to just be dreams. _

_There was much more to it than that._

_She wondered when she had fallen asleep. Sprawled out on her back, the low hum of the television that she had left on was comforting. She let her mind focus on the words of the news reporters. Local news was pretty docile. The same old run down. Accidents, park openings, and the local religious groups calling for unification. _

_The apocalypse was nearing, apparently._

_The intergalactic news reports were always much more interesting. Listening to those, it was easy to see why people thought their existence was coming to an end. Murders, rebellion, and a break out at a minimum security prison. Typical, but the quaint folks of Kalsten were little concerned with those matters._

_The woman's voice droned on and on. Her cadence was quick and a bit too forced at certain parts. Like now – her voice rose up an octave as she distributed the news of a convict long thought to be dead. She sounded unsure as she read off the information. "…Class B convict Richard B. Riddick, has been spotted on…" _

_That jogged her out of her idle thoughts. That name…_

_"…Long thought to be dead, the convict that has escaped three maximum security prisons is considered to be armed and dangerous, if…"_

_Riddick…_

Bang! Like a bullet to the head. All it took was an instant. Her world fell to pieces with the mention of one word. A name._ His_ name.

Reflecting on it now, she considered the irony of the situation. Here she was trying for months to figure out who she was exactly. And it wasn't her name that brought everything back to her. It was someone else's.

It was in that instant that she knew who she was.

Consequences and decisions to be faced.

Frankie Tran, mother fuckers.

His last lead had led him nowhere. His patience was spent and he was very seriously considering heading back to Helion Prime. Let Imam know exactly how disappointed he was. He'd left the holy man with simple instructions: keep her safe.

He had given his word. But what's the word of a holy man?

It all amounted to nothing.

He should have known when he left her there that she'd resent him. He expected it. Wanted it for fucks sake. Anything to make her stop looking at him like he was her god. He was nobody to look up to. Nobody to idolize. Nobody to emulate.

He was _nobody_.

He wanted her to have a chance. He wanted her to have the normal life that he never had. He'd been given the chance to be something when he was younger. He was given the opportunity to be a killer, and he latched onto that.

That was who he was. No trying to escape that.

Jack was no killer though. She was just a scared kid that wanted someone to show her the way. And his way wasn't the one that she needed. Not the one that she would have chosen for herself if she knew better.

But mercs, for fucks sake! Of all of the ways for her to get back at him, that was the most unexpected. The most _unpleasant_. It made that certain unmentionable part of his mind want to find her. It wanted to pay her back for the years on that ice ball. Eliminating her would make his life that much easier.

But he was able to rein in those impulses. If he was anything, he was controlled.

He was pulled out of that train of thought by the loud noise coming from his console. He accepted the incoming recorded message.

He had pulled a favor with an old acquaintance. Told him that he needed some information on a certain merc. His man had apparently pulled through.

About fucking time that something went right.

Jason Deft was showing some activity in the Andromidan system way the hell on the outskirts of the Empire's control. Jack signed up with him about six months ago, so he'd be lucky if she was still with him. If she played her cards right, and he wasn't desperate for cash she may have lasted. But a pretty face was likely to be more valuable to him out there than a rookie merc.

_A lot can go wrong in six months. _

Especially in the Andromidan system. There wouldn't be anybody to save her ass. Nobody to run to. It was rough out there.

His console let out another loud, abrupt beep.

He cocked his head at the information. No big surprise there, they'd upped the payday on his head. They apparently never eliminated the possibility that he was alive to begin with, so the payday for him hadn't fallen off much. But now, it had more than tripled. Three hundred thousand creds was a ridiculous amount of money to pay for one con.

He was flattered that someone thought he was worth that much.

He scrolled through the database, looking through the list of marks. A couple of names caught his eye, but they weren't people for him to be concerned with. People that he didn't associate with.

_What the fuck?_

He jerked forward in his seat. "Eight hundred thousand. Suspect is extremely dangerous. Frankie Tran is wanted for..."

He began searching through the files available, telling himself to remain calm. He was looking through photos that they had of her alleged resurfacing, but all that he could make out in the grainy digitals was a woman of average height, black hair, and a fair complexion. Her face was blurred, like she had moved at exactly the right moment to avoid being caught on camera.

"Damn it," he ground out. He was desperate to find more information, but what was there was scant. He was doubtful that it was her. How could it be?

But who the hell would offer up that much money, if they weren't certain that it was her?

He frowned. His mind was running at a thousand miles an hour. Going over the possibilities, and dismissing every option as soon as it occurred to him.

Which ghost from his past? Jack or Frankie?

To chase after a kid who had betrayed him – who may not even be alive. He'd already wasted six months running after her. Nearly got caught on Helion Prime. And Jason Deft may be another dead end and he'd lose his chance to chase after someone that plagued his dreams.

Someone that had disappeared thirteen years ago. Someone that wasn't supposed to be alive. Her ship was never uncovered though. The possibility that she was somewhere out there – laying low - had occurred to him several times. But why not try to find him? Why stay hidden for thirteen years? Thirteen long fucking years.

_Fuck_

For once the answer wasn't clear to him. His instincts were telling him to run in one direction, but then his misdirected sense of obligation was tearing him in the other.

_"What would Frankie do?"_ the voice in the back of his mind taunted.

His fingers pounded on the keyboard – searching for the answer.

"…Frankie Tran was last seen on Mertvas…"

_The Andromidan system…_

Well, damn. What were the odds…

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***Feedback is _very_ much appreciated. Sorry if any of this is confusing right now, it should all clear up in the next couple of chapters.***


	2. And You Think That's Funny

***Thanks to everyone that read the first chapter, and have decide to give it a chance. I hope that this chapter clears things up for everybody.***

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**Another Time, Another Place**

**Chapter Two**

**And You Think That's Funny**

He couldn't quite figure it out.

He stared at the screen, feeling uncertain. And if there was one thing that he hated, it was feeling as though he had no control. Feeling as though he had absolutely no power over things.

Control.

Control over his feelings. Control over his actions. Control over his thoughts.

So looking at her photo on the screen in front of him evoked thoughts, memories, and emotions that he neither wanted, nor understood.

It was taken immediately after her capture two days ago and featured a wicked smile and a busted lip. Her hair was pushed back from her face, and besides the malevolent look in her eye, she looked exactly the same as she had all those years ago.

_Exactly_ the same.

Uncertainty was something he didn't deal with well. He needed answers.

It had taken him two weeks to jet over to the Andromidan system, and upon learning of her capture, a couple more days to track the merc ship down. It was orbiting not far from Mertvas, around one of its volcanic moons.

It had been Jerome Benson and a team of two other men. He was a small time merc, but well connected. But he still shouldn't have had the skills to bring her in.

The news that she was caught shocked him, but also offered him the opportunity to come to terms with the facts. It also made it easier to find her.

So, Frankie was in fact alive. The photographs proved that.

But that didn't answer anything for him, it only made things that much more complicated.

He knew what he had to do, and he was in the perfect position to get the answers he needed.

And there was only one person who could provide those for him.

Something was wrong.

Frankie's eyelids fluttered open. There was a haze covering her vision. She waited patiently for the effects of the drugs to wear off.

She couldn't believe it.

Her shoulders ached and the bullet wound in her thigh still stung like a bitch. She was painfully aware of it.

She slowly took an inventory of her body and found she couldn't feel her hands.

She shook her arms as much as her position allowed her. Her toes were barely brushing the floor below her, and her hands were strained from supporting her weight above her.

She looked up at the anchor in the ceiling of the ship, noting that she'd have an easier time cutting through the chains that she hung from, than busting her way down.

_What the fuck?_

Was this their idea of a game? If so, it wasn't funny.

Fear briefly jolted through her as she considered that perhaps they had double crossed her.

No, Jerome owed her his life, he wouldn't.

She glanced around the large cockpit of the skiff. It was dark, only the ambient light from the console allowing her to see. She wasn't able to glean much from her limited position. But she sensed something.

Something dangerous.

She wasn't alone.

She couldn't see who it was, but she knew _someone_ was there. She stilled her movements, and controlled her breathing. Listening for a sign, a sound to tip her off.

The moments dragged on.

The moments turned into minutes.

A small smile played on her lips. "I know you're there," she whispered into the darkness.

Riddick watched her from the shadows. She was still and looked calm even though he knew she must be in pain. He had intended for it to be that way. People tend to think better when they aren't numb. Tend to remember better when you keep them on their toes.

A little pain goes a long way.

So he wasn't upset by the fact that she seemed at ease, dangling from the ceiling. He was comforted by the fact that she was behaving just as he remembered.

When he had found her in the small med bay in the back of the ship, unconscious and drugged up, he had taken advantage of the fact that she was out of commission. A couple samples of her blood to run a DNA analysis, and he was sure he'd be able to clear up the situation. He was still skeptical. Couldn't help but be.

None of it made sense.

While he waited on the results, he had done his own examination of her. The bullet wound on her thigh was deep – painful – but she had been patched up just fine.

Looking over her body, he couldn't help but revel in the feeling of power. This woman had been his mentor, the person he had learned all of the tips of the trade from. And she had never once shown a sliver of vulnerability while he had known her.

_Until the day she was caught._

He ran his fingers over the scar on her chest. Just a finger's width away from her heart.

She seemed so small now. Lying on the table in front of him. He considered how his image of her had been both amplified and distorted through the years. All the details of her were exactly how he had cataloged them away, but it was still off. It seemed as though he had always seen her through the eyes of a seventeen year old boy. His perspective had changed. Back then, he had yet to hit the growth spurt of his coming of age.

It seemed odd to see her now – easily less than half his weight, and a full five inches shorter. Despite that, the particulars were all the same.

It was her. No mistaking that. The analysis had proved it.

_But how?_

The sheer impossibility of the situation still ground on his nerves.

And now here she was, finally conscious. He listened to her, listening to him. Her breathing was shallow – restrained – but calm.

He cocked his head and took a deep breath.

He was amused by the fact that she had picked that up.

Frankie's smile widened. "Aw, come on. You didn't tie me up to just stand in the shadows, lurking around." Her eyes narrowed in on the spot where he was standing, perhaps purely on instinct – it was a small ship after all. She cocked her head slightly, her harmless grin turning into a wicked smirk. "Don't cha wanna play?"

Riddick stepped forward slowly, yet deliberately.

He remembered how she liked to play.

He remembered all too well.

If she was shocked to see him, there wasn't any indication on her face. So he waited for a reaction. Waited for the recognition to dawn on her. He waited for her to remember him. He waited.

Something. Anything.

She threw back her head and laughed. It was disturbing to hear it again after all these years.

But it wasn't normal. It wasn't the laugh she had indulged in around him. It was the laugh she used in the presence of opponents. It was the laughed that tipped people off to the fact that she was slightly unhinged.

Dangerous and unpredictable as always.

When she finally stopped to look him in the eye, the amusement was nowhere to be found.

"What the fuck are you up to?" she deadpanned, her tone accusing.

Riddick considered her for a moment. Not exactly what he had expected, but then again hadn't he come to anticipate the unexpected where she was concerned?

"Shouldn't you show a little more gratitude to the man that has saved your ass from being locked up?"

That seemed to jolt her out of her mood. Her expression darkened and she cast a quick look around the cockpit again.

He approached her slowly, again intrigued by how small and fragile she looked.

_Looks can be deceiving._

"Where's Jerome?" Frankie whispered. "What happened to his crew?" Her eyes round back to him, "where the fuck are they, Richard?"

_Richard…_

That was something he hadn't heard in a while. Only shrinks and lawyers called him that. Most other people stuck to Riddick. Calling him by his last name afforded them some distance.

He wasn't sure he liked it.

"Gone."

She glared at him fiercely. He could see her breathing pick up till it was labored and her heart beat was skyrocketing.

So was his irritation.

He turned to go enter their next coordinates into the computer. Give her some time to reevaluate her situation. Give _him_ time to get his temper under control.

He didn't get far.

Frankie's thighs wrapped themselves around his neck and tightened.

Riddick's hands immediately came up to try to loosen her grip. Amazed to find that he couldn't budge her.

She began to thrash around, bringing him along with her. He fell to his knees as she attempted to put him under.

_So this how she wants it?_

He could play rough.

He thrust his thumb into the bullet wound in her thigh. He was shocked when she only squeezed tighter.

He dug his thumb in deeper in response. Frankie yelled out in pain and her grip relaxed just enough.

"Fuck," she ground out, gasping.

Riddick was on her in an instant. He grabbed her by the throat and yanked her around, straining her wrists on her bonds even more.

He could smell the blood before he saw it trickling down her forearms.

He stopped after a moment, having satisfied that dark beast deep inside him.

If only for a moment.

She glared defiantly up at him.

He loosened his grip to allow her to breath.

They stood in silence like that for a few long moments. She, glaring up at him, and he intermittently giving her throat a slight squeeze. Just to remind her who was in control.

She smiled once more, but there was no humor there. "You're a fool, Richard."

He rose one eyebrow at her, indicating for her to continue.

She scoffed at that. "Jerome was my fucking ticket out. And you fucked that up," she accused, her voice rough from his abuse.

She considered him for a moment. "What did you think you were doing? Come in here, guns blazing, and save my ass? What were you expecting? That I'd be grateful to have you back on my side of the field? Since when did you fancy yourself a hero?"

He didn't like her tone.

"_Goddamn_ you," she continued. "I didn't need your fucking help, Richard."

She must have guessed by his lack of response that he still hadn't caught on.

"It was a goddamn set up! Jerome owed me one, he was going to take me in and help me take out Klyde. Remember him don't you?"

It finally dawned on him, but how was he suppose to know? She had beenbeat up – had a gaping bullet wound in her thigh.

He let go of her throat, hadn't realized he had lifted her off her toes. She'd been struggling to keep the pressure off. Realized that was why she'd been standing on the tips of his boots.

They glared at one another for a few moments.

He felt like he was played. She was the one that had turned her back on him, hadn't she? And here he was trying to fucking help her, only to find out she didn't need it.

Should have realized that a three man team wouldn't have brought her down. Should have realized when he found her on the med table, unrestrained. It should have dawned on him.

Should have listened to his instincts.

But he was too eager to care. Too eager to get to her under whatever circumstances. Too eager to get answers.

Which brought him back to the real reason for why he was here.

_Why she was here._

There were so many questions that were flying through his mind that he was unsettled by his inability to focus on just one coherent thought.

"So?" she questioned. "Since when did you develop a hero complex, _Riddick_?" She adopted her trademark smirk. "Heard you ran out on some kid 'bout five years ago. She signed up with some mercs not too long ago. Dangerous line of work for a pretty young girl like her. What happened? Couldn't handle it?"

His hand came up to her throat once more. Clenched.

_No_.

He wouldn't allow her to play this game at his expense.

He couldn't allow her to upset him, again.

That's what she wanted.

He resolved to merely stare at her, felt indulgent enough to reply.

"She's a couple of hops away. Checked her status before I headed over here to look for you. She's apparently taking to the trade." He tried to act as though that statement had no affect on him, but it gutted him to know that Jack had willingly signed up with the same motherfuckers that had wanted to tear her apart all those years ago.

He made to move away from Frankie, backing up this time. Her feet slipped off his and she was once again dangling from her wrists.

She was a bloody mess, but she seemed little concerned with that.

Frankie was watching him from across the room now. He sat down in a chair facing her after he punched in the new coordinates for their destination.

"So watcha got planned? You've obviously gone to great lengths to get me here, alone, and at your disposal."

"You'd think that'd be obvious, Frankie. You get caught by mercs thirteen years ago and then fall off the radar, only to show up _now_."

She watched him closely from across the room. Her eyes began to rove over his body. Sure, she'd read his file, but it was nothing compared to having him right in front of her. There was no doubting how powerful he was. He could snap her neck in an instant.

He had been lanky and sinewy the last time she had seen him, and stood at eye level with her. Despite his awkward grace and unrefined movements, he had been dangerous back then.

Now he was just plain deadly.

"Answers, Frankie." She was interrupted from her musings. She wondered how long he'd be willing to keep her like this. Tied up and in pain. Decided to find out.

"I don't feel much like it," she responded easily.

There was a pause as the two assessed one another.

"Fine by me, we've got plenty of time. Nothing but time, Frankie."

She made a movement that might have been shrugging if she weren't restrained.

She began to move around a bit, testing her bonds. She began twisting her body around at odd angles, trying to find a weakness in the chains and cuffs. Her hands weren't going to be of much use though.

She had spun herself around, twisting the chain higher and higher with her momentum. Her body twirled around in a circle, her knees drawn up to her chest.

The pain was exhilarating.

Frankie had been at it for hours.

He was a patient man, but Riddick eventually had to come to the conclusion that she just wasn't going to budge.

He stopped her mid-twirl, his hands on her waist. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips.

Her head was bent back, a smile on her lips. "Tell me, when did you become such a monster, _Riddick_?" Her head rolled forward. "Have you always been that way? Was I just your tool? Did you use me to help teach you the ropes, because you knew what you'd become?"

She studied his shined eyes, leaned in further. "What was it, exactly?" she breathed.

She could see that she was getting no response. Time for a change in tactics.

"Why'd you abandon her?" It was like a slap to the face.

She was glad to have finally gotten a reaction from him.

He attempted to shove her away, but her legs were locked behind him. Before he could really put an actual effort into pushing her away, she laughed.

"Come on now, what's this really about?" She jerked her body.

"All I'm looking for Frankie, are some answers. What the fuck happened after those mercs grabbed you? Where you been hiding for the last thirteen years?"

"Fuck off. You make it sound as though _I_ abandoned _you_."

It dawned on her.

_Was that it? Was he pissed because he thinks she abandoned him thirteen years ago? Does he blame her for what happened to him?_

The idea seemed absurd.

His hands were digging into her hips painfully now.

She studied his expression. He was never big on words. Never good at expressing himself. He was always more of a physical beast.

She realized then how the situation must look to him. And he just wanted answers – just didn't know how to ask for them. He couldn't bring himself to ask what he really wanted to know.

_Fine_.

"Wanna know where I've been? Alright. I've been fucking frozen in a cryo cabinet for the last thirteen years. Killed the mercs on that ship four weeks into the trip to Crematoria, and set a new course, only there was a malfunction with the ship's computer. Whatever it was that woke me up in the first place and allowed me to escape. Didn't realize that at the time. The fucking thing went off course and left me on ice.

"Lost my memory of everything when they found me. Took me months to get it all back. And imagine my surprise to find you, _Richard B. Riddick_, on the run with a mighty fine payday on your head. And just guess what it was that brought me out of all that? The memory of you, dripping in blood. Your first kill, remember? But you seem to have had many in between then and now, haven't you?"

She studied his face for any signs of emotion, only to find that his façade was firmly in place.

"When the fuck did you become a monster, Richard?"

"I've got you to thank for that, Frankie. You've always been my greatest source of inspiration," his voice rippled through her.

She tried to disengage herself from him, only to find that he was unwilling to let her go.

"_Fuck_ _you,"_ she bit out. "I didn't teach you to be a murderer, I taught you how to survive. Nothing more."

"Leading by example?" He knew it was a low blow.

They continued to stare each other down, until Riddick reached into his pocket and produced the key to her cuffs. Letting her fall to the ground, he wondered how she was able to put up such a good show.

He bent to pick her up, but she made to punch him in the jaw, only to find that she couldn't feel her hands yet.

He cocked a brow at her. "What're you planning on doing with that?" He nodded toward her limp hand.

"Just don't touch me."

_Okay . . . _

He shrugged his shoulders. Have it her way. He was going to get some rest.

He left her on the floor and returned to the seat at the front of the cockpit. He resolved to simply watch her.

Their eyes locked and she lay motionless for some time before she finally gathered enough strength to get up and walk to the med bay.

His mind was reeling with the information. With her out of sight, he could finally consider everything she said.

Theoretically there was a one in a million chance that a cryo system would keep you under for any extended amount of time without significant cell damage. The maximum time usually allowed was eighteen months.

What were the chances that that merc ship had encountered a meteorite shower and the system malfunctioned? What were the chances that she was left in that cryo cabinet, on ice for thirteen years and wasn't completely brain dead?

He went over the possibilities.

If what she said was the truth, then maybe she did sustain some damage. If she really lost her memory for a few months, then that had to be a result of the cryo system. It must have shut her down to the bare minimums required to live.

But did that explain why she hadn't aged?

Maybe.

It's not like they've done experiments for these things.

She goes to sleep, twenty-six years old, and wakes up thirteen years later – and appears to not be a day older.

In the mean time, he's fending for himself, and getting his name out there.

Richard B. Riddick…

Mass murderer . . . and a hero complex . . .

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***Please let me know what you all think. Next chapter, more explanations are due. And aren't you happy to find out that he checked in on Jack first?***


	3. Something to Chew on

AN: Alright, so let's just skip the part where I suck big time for leaving this for so long, and get to the part where the action picks up, shall we?

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**Another Time, Another Place**

**Chapter Three**

**Something to Chew on**

He was early.

It was a dance. Well choreographed and flawlessly executed. Riddick was a man of purpose. And although he would never admit to it, he had a routine.

Frankie had become well acquainted with his pattern right off the bat; looked for ways to squeeze herself in around him. Making sure they were never in the same room at the same time. Never close. It was bad enough that his room was directly across from hers._  
_

He was ten minutes early today, and she had nowhere to go as she heard him approach the door to the galley. She set down her cup of tea and tried to make her body lose some of the tension that had instantly appeared.

She wasn't afraid of him. No. But she wasn't a fool, either. He was a predator, and she had had a hard time controlling him at fourteen and fifteen, so there was no hope of exerting any control over him now.

Riddick's body suddenly filled the doorway to the galley, and she had to stop herself from looking away from his piercing stare. There was something so primal – so intense about him. She had seen that in him when he was younger, and she was uncomfortable with it then. Put her on edge. But now – now . . . it was damn unnerving. Her body responded to it on some level.

His body was tense, as though ready to spring at any moment, and she couldn't help but wonder at the life he had led in her absence. A life that refined that animalistic side of him. Honed the skills that were doubtlessly there to begin with, coupled with pure instinct and obvious strength.

But just because she had been able to recognize the potential for what he had become, didn't mean she wanted that for him. Or even expected it.

She was having a hard time reconciling the person that stood in front of her with the wiry kid that she knew _before._

A small smile graced her lips as she voiced the thought that was running through her head. "You're a bit early."

He'd know what she meant, of course.

Riddick marched towards her and that feeling in her gut grabbed her attention again. This was the reason why she needed the distance between them. It wasn't fear. No – it was something akin to anticipation.

And she didn't like the idea. This was still the boy that she knew . . . somewhere underneath that cold stare and intimidating mass.

But even with the persisting silence and avoided glances through the last couple of weeks, she found herself inexplicably drawn to him. Pulled into his orbit.

She couldn't help but feel a connection to him. A connection colored in blood, to be sure, but a connection nonetheless.

She was feeling out of her element. Clumsy. For once, she was unsure of what to do. Unsure of what to say and _feel_. Among other things, they shared their desire for control. So her lack of coherence and clarity of mind was unsettling.

He swung the chair across from her around, and sat down in it gracefully. He called for the lights to dim a bit and continued to glare at her.

It was the most emotion he had shown in the last two weeks and she couldn't help but feel amused by it. Amused by him.

She surveyed him closely, noting the differences the past thirteen years had imposed on him. Once again struck by the idea that he was technically older than her, now. But she could see him under all of it. He still bore a resemblance to his younger self, albeit in the smallest aspects. From the perpetual scowl that he wore, to the scar along the right side of his jaw – all the way down to the infectious tilt of his head when he finds something intriguing.

Frankie grinned.

The silence was tense.

She nearly got up to leave, when Riddick finally voiced his concern. "What did you do to the controls?"

A pause.

She considered her response. Considered what he would do when she informed him that she had finally managed to hack into his system and disable his password, change the course and fry the entire thing so it couldn't be tampered with again – not until they reached their new destination.

She was still quite pissed about that actually. Turns out thirteen years does a lot for the advance of technology. But that doesn't help with her sense of inadequacy - hacking used to be something she prided herself on. Now, she'd have to practically relearn the entire process.

No matter, she was a quick learner.

Riddick saw her growing hesitation, and became tenser; his face pulled into a tight scowl, his gaze intense.

No way of avoiding it, really. "I'm not much for subzero temperatures. I'm more of a temperate climate sort of girl." She smiled, and made to get up and was surprised when he continued to sit in his seat, staring at the space she had just vacated.

She took three steps, but had yet to reach his side of the table when he rose suddenly. There was a moment of pause, as they assessed one another.

And then he was taking quick strides over to her. She seemed to surprise them both when she took a quick step back.

She set her jaw and rose her hands in a defensive gesture. "Don't," she said, firmly.

As he reached her, he seemed to roll back on his heels at her command. He visibly calmed as he considered her, before his lips formed the question she was silently asking herself.

"Don't what?" he whispered, somewhat perplexed. He was tired of the silence. Tired of this standoff, or whatever the fuck it was. He had gotten the answers he thought he wanted, but it still wasn't enough. It didn't quell the doubt or the anger. Because he had the facts, but not the motive. He still wanted more from her, but he wasn't going to ask, and so far, she had been unwilling to tell.

Unwilling to say anything, really. They were both solitary creatures, but there had been a time when they had both accepted and tolerated each other's presence. Silent companionship, or something close to it.

But just like now, she was repelled by him. And that sent sparks off in his head. If there was one person in the universe that should understand where he came from, and who he was - it was her. So her coldness toward him was infuriating.

Her hands were still raised between them, careful to not touch him, but ready for his assault. He glanced down at them for a moment as though to say: _really?_

Frankie refused to waver. She was a fool though - she was craning her neck up at him and his weight alone might crush her, if he were to have her on the ground pinned beneath him. She realized then that she should have kept the table between them. She was smaller and certainly not as strong, but she had agility and speed on her side. Her left foot slide back slowly, giving her a more effective defensive stance. She wouldn't let him push her around.

Riddick cocked his head to the side slightly – something seemed to occur to him in that moment. He leaned forward, apparently knowing exactly what her discomfort was. He'd put a name to the tension. A face to the discomfort.

His shoulders loomed over her, as he looked down at her, shadowing her in his bulk. And as much as Frankie willed herself to stay put, her inane desire to not touch him reigned supreme and she jerked back as though he were fire, and his close proximity both startled and irritated her.

Riddick smirked as though he had discovered her kryptonite, and intended to destroy her with it.

He took a slow, measured step towards her, and despite herself she took one back. Glaring fiercely at him, Frankie realized she was in the exact position she'd been wanting to avoid. She was caught off guard when the slow procession of steps led her to ledge of the table.

But she wasn't cornered yet. Far from it in fact.

She could feel herself tensing, could feel her body readying itself for . . . _something._

Riddick looked down at her with that knowing smirk on his face, and his calculating eyes studied her every move. Her every tremor and breath.

He leaned forward again.

"Don't," she snarled, lashing out with her right hand, her fingers aimed for his throat. He must have expected it, but did no more than shift deftly to the side, her nails grazing along his collarbone instead.

But he had given up his prized spot in her space, and Frankie felt as though she could breathe easier at that.

Riddick flashed her a toothy grin. "Don't_ what?_" he said, more forcefully this time. Taunting.

She pursed her lips, "Just_ don't – " _she considered what she was trying to say. "—Don't . . . touch me." Her voice lingered between them, and he seemed to be testing his weight on each foot as he shifted lightly from left to right.

The movement only unnerved her more. Shoving away from the edge of the table she was quickly put on the defensive. Riddick's right arm swept past her elbow jab and left hook, lifting her in the air before landing her squarely on the table.

Frankie growled audibly, as she began to kick and scratch at any exposed skin she could get her hands on.

He found it endearing.

His response was simply to squeeze her throat tighter. Soon enough, her hands were clasped around his forearm, prying and digging to get air into her lungs.

Riddick relented after a few moments, when her face was well and truly purple from the lack of oxygen. But rather than let her go entirely, he simply left his palm at the hollow of her throat, her wheezing gasps and fierce glare running through him. Her heartbeat pounded powerfully against his hand, frantic.

Pissed as she was at his teasing attempt to strangle her, it wasn't the pressure of his hand on her throat that made her uncomfortable now, it was his position – fit so snuggly between her thighs that she was wholly irritated with.

He was shaking his head at her with something close to disappointment and disdain dancing in his shimmering, intense eyes. "So, this is the reason you won't be in the same room with me? You're afraid that I'll _taint_ you," he bit out. "That's pretty damn hypocritical of you don't you think, Frankie?"

She choked out a contemptuous laugh – he thought so little of her. It was hardly believable. _She_ afraid of _him_? Ridiculous. Insulting.

"Sure, try and tell yourself that you're a bad motherfucker, Richard. I don't believe half of the bullshit in your file." She smiled at him, truly amused. "It's not your bloody, murderous hands that I'm concerned about, anyways. I'm far less concerned about the state of my soul than you believe me to be."

He continued to simply stare down at her, face wiped clean of emotion as he processed her conflicting statements.

"What I'd really love, is for you to get the fuck off me," she ground out, all eloquence gone.

He was quiet as he assessed her. Debating.

Her hands squeezed more forcefully on his forearm, willing him to remove it from her throat, and more importantly, for him to move from the precarious situation they were in.

Something like this might not have been so uncomfortable thirteen years ago, but she was still having a hard time getting used to the drastic change in their situation. Thirteen years ago, he was on her kid radar, which was an entirely separate thing from her _man_ radar. And so now, he was unceremoniously thrust into that category and she didn't want to dwell on it. It was a dangerous proposition.

Something in his demeanor changed then, something shifted, was altered. His cold mask was back in place – his shield of indifference and dispassion.

"So where are we headed, then?" he asked coolly.

She smiled sweetly at him. "Take your hands off me and I'll tell you."

"No," he stated simply. And rather than letting go of her, he tightened his grip. "You wanna play games with me, Frankie?" he asked softly, belying his real intentions.

Her laughter filled the galley; reverberated through the room and didn't cease even when he gave her throat a couple of rough jerks, picking her entire upper body off the table.

"Playing games? Is that what you think I'm doing here, Richard?" she finally said, through deceptively smiling lips. "_Playing fucking games with you_, is that it?"

He wasn't prepared for the blow that came then, aimed at his temple and catching him in the jaw instead.

A quick roll and she was laughing again, breathing heavily from across the table, leaning against it on bent arms.

They stood there staring at one another for a few moments, she with a wicked smile playing in her eye and splayed across her lips, and he with a fierce glare and hardly contained temper boiling below the surface.

He didn't like that she was able to slip through his grasp so easily. It was intolerable.

Frankie didn't need to glance over her shoulder to know the door wasn't far. Exactly eight strides, actually. But Riddick seemed to anticipate her next move and lunged towards her, dangerously close to catching her before she made it to the exit.

Exhilarated by the prospect of escape, her hand was extended to touch the access pad on the wall, and narrowly missed crashing into the metal door when it failed to respond to her touch.

Darting to the right, she was caught by a well muscled arm and sent crashing back into the door anyway. "Well, should have expected that," she ground out.

Upon finding that she had tampered with his navigation system, Riddick must have locked her out of the entire system, including the access pads for entering and exiting the rooms.

She was once again forced to put her hands up in front of her in weak defense. She might get a couple of good smacks in, but she was definitely outmatched when it came to the power behind the blow.

She could tell he was trying to keep control of the situation; of his impulse to beat her into a bloody pulp. It was a touching thought.

They continued to stare at one another for a few more moments, and she could see him tensing all the muscles in his arms that were barred on each side of her body against the door.

A quick smile, and she brought her knee up for a swift blow between the legs, but he had anticipated this, and seemed oddly amused by it.

So did her attempt to hit him in the throat.

Her quick blows were met by swift defensive moves, and a widening smirk which only served to irritate her more. His confidence was infuriating, and he had yet to return any of her blows.

Each hit that she managed to get in was followed with a dozen that failed.

She stopped momentarily for a reprieve and a change in tactics and glared up at his smug smirk. She was the one _trained _in all of this, and despite the fact that she was obviously much smaller than him in size and strength, she was irritated by his calmness and ease of grace. It made perfect sense that he'd be able to keep the upper hand in any sort of physical match - but it infuriated her. The fact that _once upon a time_, she had taught him everything she knew probably played a factor, too. But he had undoubtedly picked up some things in the max slams that he'd been to. Places that she'd never seen, and hopefully would never have to.

But it stung her pride to find her 'student' surpass her in skill so completely. And it frustrated her to no end that he seemed so perfectly aware of exactly that.

She spit viciously on the floor by his boot and that wiped the smirk off his face, before she kicked off of the door and threw herself into him.

The surprise caused him to stumble back and fall onto the floor, with her right on top. Her speed allowed her to bounce right off of him and back towards the table.

She could feel, more than see him right behind her and she made a mad grab at something on the table before turning around and blindly stabbing at him with it as he grabbed her upper arm.

The sound of the fork embedding into his shoulder was sickening and obscenely comical. They both stopped mid-movement to stare at the utensil as it swayed back and forth for a few moments before settling at an odd angle in the shallow wound. There was a moment of silence, as Frankie waited and watched for a reaction, her eyebrows raised dramatically.

Riddick seemed frozen, and continued to stare at the fork protruding from his shoulder. A slight cock of his head, and the words came rumbling from this throat. "Did you –?"

Silence.

Riddick's gaze swiveled over to her, and his eyebrows rose slightly.

Frankie's lips twitched at the peculiar expression on his face, and she simply shrugged noncommittally. She knew _what_ he was asking, but just as usual, he didn't know _how_ to ask it.

Frankie licked her lips, when his intense gaze failed to reveal his thoughts to her. She felt the anxiousness creep in. Would he see the humor in the situation? He might have at one point, but now she wasn't so sure. Her throat was dry as she cleared it, nodding unnecessarily at his shoulder.

"Want me to, uh," she trailed off. Taking a deep breath, "You know – take it out?"

Riddick remained quiet, his head no longer tilted to the side. His fingers twitched.

Frankie nodded. "—Right." Reaching forward, she wasn't ready for his quick movement. Her hand on the end of the fork, his fingers firmly clasp around hers. A gentle tug, and the offending utensil was clear.

But naturally, his hold only tightened on her fist, the metal of the fork beginning to dig into her palm.

Leaning in, Riddick warned, "I don't suggest you try anything like that again."

Her answering smile was all he got, followed by an awkward tug of her arm, releasing her hand from his grip. "Gotcha."

Another awkward silence, and she found herself skirting around his hulking form.

"We're headed to Septus," she offered, as a way to soothe the situation. "We're about three months out."

Riddick finally moved to face her, leaning casually against the table behind him. He regarded her with a guarded stare. A moment later, and a nod, "Alright then."

Riddick walked passed Frankie towards the door, and she followed at a safe distance.

She paused as he headed in the opposite direction of the cockpit. Her head whipped around to follow his movements. It took her a few moments to get the words out. "Aren't you going to take off the block on my access profile?"

Riddick stopped, looking over his shoulder casually, a feral smile in place. "Maybe for punishment for frying my system, I won't allow that _privilege_."

Frankie recoiled as though he'd called her a foul name. "—Punishment?" she spit out. "Who the fuck do you think you are? Punishment my fucking ass."

Riddick's barking laughter, the first genuine laugh he'd indulged in around her in thirteen years. "Yeah, I like that. You've got to come and ask me for permission to get around the ship." His smirk was unbearable. "Ask me nicely, and I might even allow you to keep the lights on."

Frankie watched his laughing, retreating form with disbelieving eyes. Jesus fuck. It was going to be a _long_ three months.

* * *

AN: So, how is that for chapter three? Not much advancement, but I like the idea of setting the tone and shedding some light on Riddick and Frankie. Please drop me a note and let me know what you think, I'd appreciate constructive criticism - it helps more than you think.

And I don't plan on leaving this in the near future. It seems like no matter what happens in my life, I always come back to Riddick. I guess I just love that badass mofo. Oh, and has anybody else heard the news about a new movie for the franchise? Chronicles of Riddick: Dead Man Stalking? Any potential there?

Jess


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